DELHI :

The seven-decade-old Urdu paper is set to go digital

Milestone: Nai Duniya issues of 1973 | Photo Credit: Special Arrangement

A 72-year-old newspaper is ready to shave off its white beard. Helping it speak to the hep and happening young readers is the equally old editor-politician-author Shahid Siddiqui.

Starting in 1950 as an eveninger, Nai Duniya was among the first victims of COVID-induced restrictions and challenges. Now it is poised for a comeback albeit as a weekly in digital format. Siddiqui says, “At a time when it is difficult for even English magazines to find vendors, and given the increased online traffic, it makes sense to re-launch Nai Duniya in the language of the new world. We will revive Nai Duniya as an Urdu weekly in digital format.”

Siddiqui is the right person to revive the paper. He had re-launched it in 1973 after his father Abdul Waheed Siddiqui had to pay the price for skirmishes with the government. Recalls Siddiqui, “I was still pursuing my Master’s degree from Delhi University when I realised there was a demand for Nai Duniya. I revived the paper a little before Emergency and took on an established paper like Blitz which was quite popular among Urdu readers. At the time of Emergency, we were the only Urdu newspaper to criticise the government. Incidentally, Indira Gandhi gave us an  interview soon after losing power in 1977.”

THOSE WERE THE DAYS Staff of Nai Duniya in 1951 with the founder Abdul Waheed Siddiqui (seated in the centre). Young Shahid Siddiqui, the present editor, can be seen in the lap of his brother.  | Photo Credit: Special Arrangement

Though Nai Duniya developed distinct political contours over time, it started as a hangout zone for the best Urdu writers and poets of Old Delhi. Shortly after the paper went to press around 3 p.m., the poets and writers would gather at its office in Haveli Hisamuddin in Ballimaran. Over endless cups of tea, they would recite poetry, crack jokes and take a dig at the society and polity. Among them were the likes of Zubair Rizvi, Salam Machchlishahri and Josh Malihabadi.

As Siddiqui says, “My father had worked with Al Jamiat. After Independence, the newspaper refused to speak against the Congress party. He parted ways and started Nai Duniya instead.”

The good times of soirees and gentle jokes did not last long. Soon the paper found itself embroiled in a controversy related to Kashmir. The paper had opposed the arrest of Sheikh Abdullah. Its entry was banned in the State. The declaration of the paper was cancelled, its security forfeited and in 1964-65, the paper had to fold up.  

“My father brought out two other papers instead – Himmat and Taqat. They did not last long. Then Nai Duniya was revived after Feroz Gandhi introduced a private member’s Bill in Parliament against asking for a security deposit for a newspaper. The Bill was passed. Nai Duniya once again raised its voice against the ongoing riots and paid the price. There were raids at our place, all the stuff was checked, even the pillows were ripped apart to see anything suspicious hidden there,” recounts Siddiqui.

Milestone: Nai Duniya issue of 2002 | Photo Credit: Special Arrangement

Finally, Nai Duniya came back in a new avatar as a weekly. Within six months, it became the highest-selling weekly in the country, selling from stalls in Kashmir to Karnataka. Denizens of Old Delhi, in particular, used to wait for it and would discuss its stories over endless cups of tea all over again. The government took note too. Its founding editor Abdul Waheed was arrested during the Emergency.

The Kashmir challenge remained for the paper. Siddiqui received death threats from Lashkar-e-Taiba, Hizbul Mujahideen, etc in the mid-80s. Recalls Siddiqui, “I was arrested under TADA after Farooq Abdullah’s government was felled.”

Yet amidst all the challenges, Nai Duniya flourished. Its office moved from the cultural hub of Old Delhi to the more upmarket Nizamuddin. From an eight-pager, the paper grew into a 24-page tabloid with stories carrying a punch. Along the way, it was the first to introduce computers in Urdu newspapers, started the concept of theme-based pages and invited the best journalists to write for it.

It worked well until the pandemic enforced its closure. Now at 72, it is set to revive again, this time as a digital newspaper, yet with the same old fire and punch.

source: http://www.thehindu.com / The Hindu / Home> News> Cities> Delhi / by Ziya Us Salam / June 24th, 2022

DELHI :

Speakers talked poignantly at the launch of Shahid Siddiqui’s novel about the indivisible history of India and Pakistan

Shahid Siddiqui. Photo: R.V. Moorthy

The love-hate relationship between the people of India and Pakistan has been masterfully woven around the lives and aspirations of two brothers, Shiraz and Aijaz, by the politician and journalist turned author, Shahid Siddiqui. The launch of Siddiqui’s first work of English fiction, “The Golden Pigeon”(Harper Collins), saw a packed house at the India International Centre this Wednesday.

pix: harpercollins.co.in

The book was released by veteran journalist Kuldip Nayar who spoke passionately about the need to believe in Gandhi’s ideas of secularism and pluralism in this time of increasing hatred and ‘love jihad’. Barkha Dutt, group editor NDTV, moderated an interesting dialogue between the author, Nayar and noted film director Mahesh Bhatt.

Nayar recounted his experience of covering the post Partition riots — the disillusionment, horror of countless people rendered orphans and homeless, killed and maimed, families torn apart — and felt that Siddiqui’s book brought out the trauma and fear of Partition in a very sensitive manner. “The book reminds me of my younger days in Ballimaran — the old world charm, the magic of an era forgotten, the memories of riots. Reading the book brought tears to my eyes,” he said.

Barkha commented that the book is a story at many different levels, of schizophrenia about Pakistan’s devious designs to stir trouble in India, of dysfunctional love, manufactured stories about love jihad and passion.

Siddiqui said the book was rooted in his experiences of growing up in Shahjahanabad, the struggles of people in post Partition India, the invisible line drawn between the two countries, of aspirations, anger and fear of a people divided by a political decision. “My book is full of magical realism and begins from where the famous movie Garm Hava ends. It is a bird’s-eye view of the social upheaval and political turmoil in the subcontinent and post Partition angst. But this is not a political book at all,” said Siddiqui emphatically.

Bhatt felt that the book has what he likes to call ‘the perfume of sorrow’ and said he could easily identify with the central characters in the novel. “This book caught me by my jugular. It’s my life in print — a fiction of facts,” said Bhatt while discussing at length the dichotomy of growing up as the love child of a Muslim woman and a Hindu man. He recounted how his mother braved the odds to raise him as a Hindu while she hid her own identity as a Muslim under the garb of a mangalsutra and bindi. He also said the character of the beautiful Hina Kauser in the book was a portrayal of his mother’s steely determination to survive the odds. “The compass of our nation and that of Pakistan points towards hope. A time will come when the boundaries in our hearts and minds will fade away. The change has already begun,” said Bhatt.

source: http://www.thehindu.com / The Hindu / Home> Features> Metroplus / by Anasuya Basu / image edited : Harper Collins / November 21st, 2014

DELHI :

An excerpt from Shahid Siddiqui’s fascinating memoir of culture, society and politics

WORLD APART: The tangled lanes of Old Delhi where Abdul Waheed Siddiqui (right) started the evening daily Nai DuniyaSourced by the Telegraph

In those post-Partition days, there were unseen borders drawn in old Delhi — what in today’s parlance is called Delhi-6. There were Muslim and Hindu areas within the same lane. Haveli Hesamuddin in Ballimaran was the mohalla (locality) of a prosperous Muslim business community called Punjabis or the Shamsi baradari. It was, therefore, in common parlance known as ‘Punjabi Phatak’ (Punjabi Gate). In reality, they were not Punjabis, but had migrated from Central Asia; they were very fair-skinned, some of them had blue eyes and blond hair. None of them spoke Punjabi. Most of them owned shops and businesses in Chandni Chowk and Sadar Bazar. Many of them owned large showrooms and hotels in Connaught Place and Kashmiri Gate, with palatial houses in Civil Lines, which was at that time the most expensive and posh residential area of Delhi. Our family was one of the few non-Punjabis living there, and was looked upon with suspicion. The government and administration allotted us a house that belonged to a prosperous Muslim family that had migrated to Pakistan…

…In the 1950s, Ballimaran was in great turmoil, and undergoing significant demographic and emotional changes. While some prominent families had migrated to Pakistan, others were gravitating to this place from different parts of India. It emerged as the hub of new post-Partition Muslim politics and cultural renaissance. Things were changing, and education was becoming popular. Mohani shifted to our mohalla, and brought all the writers, poets, revolutionaries and freedom fighters with him. Ballimaran was known as the Mohalla of Mirza Asad Ullah Khan Ghalib. With Mohani also spending his last days here, it became a centre of activity for all those with patriotic zeal and revolutionary ideas. Prominent journalist Kuldip Nayar, who migrated from Lahore, came here to spend time with Mohani and practise Urdu journalism. Famous poet Josh Malihabadi, whenever he was in Delhi, preferred to stay here. Theatre practitioners like Habib Tanvir and Baba Niaz Haider found refuge in Haveli Hesamuddin and Ballimaran.

When Abba decided to resign from Aljamiat and launch a daily newspaper Nai Duniya in 1951, the ground floor of the haveli was converted into a newspaper office. For some time, we lived on the upper floor of this two-storey house, but later shifted to a house next door. The upper floor, with large rooms and enormous terraces, became the refuge for those who had no place to go. Nai Duniya was an evening newspaper, so all office work was over by the afternoon. After that, the whole office, its courtyard and terraces were available to idealists, culturally adventurous political mavericks, revolutionary young men, and the most outspoken journalists to spend their time there.

There would be rehearsals for a play on one terrace, while impromptu mushairas would be organized on the other if Jigar Moradabadi or any other famous poet were visiting the city. While Communist Party members would have heated debates on the class character of Nehru’s government in one room, in another, some ulema would plan relief work for some place where a communal riot had broken out. From Habib Tanvir and young M.F. Hussain to poets like Gulzar and Zubair Rizvi, many creatives spent their time in the Nai Duniya office. There were dozens of cots (charpai or khat as we call them in Hindustani) on the terrace. Anyone could sleep there, and have a cup of tea and nahari-roti for breakfast. Thus, in my growing years, my young mind was exposed to the most exciting and dynamic melee of ideas and cultural cocktails possible.

In 1952, a young woman called Sarla Gupta, who belonged to a prominent family of Delhi lalas, and lived in Haveli Hyder Quli in Chandni Chowk, came to meet Abba. She wanted to contest the municipal corporation elections from Ballimaran on a Communist Party of India ticket. She had just graduated from Delhi University, and was burning to change society and build a new India. It was unthinkable for a communist to contest and win from a predominantly Muslim constituency, and that too when the candidate was a young woman who had just graduated from university.

Muslims, who had been divided between the Indian National Congress and the Muslim League before Independence, believed that in independent India only Congress could help and protect them. Even those who harboured a dislike for Nehru, Azad and Patel now looked at them as their saviours, and voted for Congress.

They looked at the Hindu Mahasabha and the newly formed Bharatiya Jana Sangh (BJS) with suspicion and fear, apprehending that if these parties came to power, they would marginalize them and treat them as second-class citizens. They regarded any third party as ‘vote katwa’ (divider of their votes), which would ultimately help parties like the Hindu Mahasabha and BJS, which were trying to gain a foothold among Hindus in the post-Partition atmosphere of suspicion and hatred.

Abba’s undeniable spirit pushed him forward, and he agreed to back Sarla Gupta. She defeated the powerful Congress candidate with Abba’s support. It was a prestigious election for Muslim Congressmen, and a test case inasmuch as it was the first post-Partition election. This made the Congress government extremely wary.

Govind Ballabh Pant, a freedom fighter, close confidant of Sardar Vallabhbhai Patel, and the first chief minister of Uttar Pradesh from 1946 to 1954, was highly wary of communists, and regarded them as dangerous for the country. Sarla’s victory from a Muslim area was exaggerated to foment the fear that Muslims were gravitating in large numbers towards the communists. Some rightist Hindu organizations saw this election as a massive conspiracy — a political takeover of India by the communists with the help and support of Muslims. In the aftermath of the Partition when most Muslim leaders, even progressive ones, had left Indian Muslims in the lurch and migrated to Pakistan, the latter had no one to look up to or raise their voice, and believed that democracy was not meant for them, but only for the Hindu majority.

Reproduced with permission from I, Witness; by Rupa Publications

source: http://www.telegraphindia.com / The Telegraph Online / Home> Life / by Shahid Siddiqui / August 17th, 2025